Caecus
by Felony Melanie
Summary: The Wizarding world has changed forever, and so has Harry. Now he must return to Hogwarts bearing the burden of his lost godfather, the curse of the prophecy, and the unseen horror behind the door in the DOM... Romance, Adventure, and Angst abound...
1. Of Death and Veils and Saving the World

****

**Title:** Caecus  
**Pairings: **You'll need to wait to figure out this one. . . .  
**Categories:** Action/Adventure, Mystery, a tinge of Romance, lots of Angst.  
**Rating: **PG for now. PG-13 perhaps for future chapters, but we'll meet that hurdle when it comes.  
**Spoilers:** SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP. . . the whole shebang.  
**Summary:** "I have to suck it up and face the facts. After all, the facts are right there, in front of me. They always have been. It's the one, infallible truth that I have always been too stubborn to see. I am Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and I am going to save the world." 6th year fic. Action and angst abound.

**

* * *

******

**Of Death and Veils and Saving the World**

What is death, after all?

Is it just dead leaves and broken branches and perhaps a chilling wind sweeping through a ghost town? Or is it an emptiness, a vacancy, just an empty shell? Where does the mind go, once it is severed from the body? And what of a person's soul? Does it remain with the mind or float off on it's own to join other lost souls in some horrible land of death? Do people really live on inside their loved ones? If they do, how can there possibly be a heaven? Or an afterlife? What if our dead relatives are really just trapped inside of us, and our bodies are their tombs? And do they remain there, living on as we slowly forget them? Maybe ghosts are just escaped souls. Or maybe they're people with no loved ones in which to live.

Or maybe death is none of these things. Maybe death is just. . . darkness. Nothingness. Like a light switch being flipped from on to off, and that's it. No pearly gates or life on the clouds.

I have thought of these things continually. I have mulled them over in my mind, knowing, in some dark recess of my brain, that one day I'll have an answer. One day, I'll know. And when that day comes, it will be too late.

It terrifies me to think of it, and yet. . . .

I've always had a belief that's been with me as long as I can remember. It wasn't something I decided on one day, it was just something that was always there for me. I always knew that my parents were waiting for me, perhaps watching over me, from wherever death had taken them, and that they would be waiting when my time came. But lately, I've begun to question that simple idea.

The night, or morning, rather, that Sirius fell through that veil, everything I knew was turned upside-down. Suddenly, there was a dark ball of doubt slowly engulfing me as I struggled to make sense of a senseless world.

How could a piece of fabric, so thin and fragile, take a life? I saw it before it committed the crime, I almost touched it. It was no threat, it was something to be admired, even preserved with the state it was in. Hah. How ironic. Something that should be taken care of, and yet it kills.

I can still see the crumbling arch in my minds eye, and I wonder if I had touched it, and it had fallen over, if Sirius' life could have been spared. It was odd, the way the portal to death called to me, pulling me closer, taunting me with inaudible whispers that I might be able to discern with a mere step closer. . . .

But it was a curse, a threat, a danger. It was as simple as that, and yet as complicated. I can't explain why the veil called to me or Ginny or Neville or Luna. Or why the few of use it lured were the same few squirted with the pus of that _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ plant earlier that year on the train. I can't explain what was so tantalizing about it, or why it's so impossible to grasp the fact that Sirius is dead.

Sirius is dead.

Those three words cause such an ache in my heart that some nights I just wish to curl up and disappear. Maybe if I cry and cause myself as much pain and suffering as I can, I can earn an ounce of forgiveness. The guilt is killing me, slowly and cruelly. It wasn't noticeable at first, the skipped meals, the lack of sleep. But as the days pass, it's becoming more obvious. Clothes which had once fit me to a certain degree now drape off my shoulders. Above the collar of my shirts, a drastically protruding collar-bone is clearly visible, and beneath it are spiny ribs. My eyes, once so bright and green, have lost their sheen and hold a haunting coldness in them that scares even me when I glance in the mirror. Even my voice has changed, rarely containing any excitement or happiness, or even any concern for the world around me.

I deserve this. That's one of the few things I know to be true now. I deserve this punishment. I deserve even worse than this. I deserve to die.

Yes, my own death is something that appears in my thoughts every once in a while. I've become so used to it that a cold chill no longer tingles down my spine at the thought of it. It's not like I'd ever actually kill myself, though. I'm to cowardly for that. Instead, I sometimes muse that perhaps Voldemort will appear at my doorstep one day, and he'll kill me. That way there'd be no more pain, and people won't think of me as some quitter. People are so stupid sometimes, they would see me as a hero.

But the musings don't last long. No, there's no time for foolishness like that. There's only one thing that could possible occupy my thoughts 24 hours a day. There's only one thing that could possibly scare me worse than the thought of living forever with this pain.

And that one thing happened 17 years ago in an upstairs room of the Hog's Head pub in Hogsmeade. Before I was even born.

Yes, believe it or not, I do think about the Prophecy. The Prophecy. That's such a ridiculous name, isn't it? It's more like the Death Sentence to me.

But it's there, and whether I decide to accept it or ignore it, it will always be there and it will always be true. I wish it were one of those things that I could just shove into the back of my mind and avoid; somewhat like what I do to Potions essays or Divination homework. But it's not. Instead, it's always there, at the top of my thoughts and dreams.

Kill or be killed. It's the basic instinct of survival, and yet nothing's ever felt so foreign to me. It's always been escape or be killed or fight for your life or be killed. It's never been _kill_ or be killed.

Me, a murderer. Honestly. That would send Rita Skeeter right through the roof. Even if it would be killing the Dark Lord. I suppose I'd get praised for that, for taking a life.

The world is so twisted.

I wish there were a way that I could pass on this burden to someone else, but I'm not that cruel. I swear, I can't handle it by myself. It's only been a couple of months since I heard it, and I'm already closer to death than I was the day that Killing Curse hit me.

This would all be a lot easier of no one died. But death is no trivial matter. A life is so important. A life could change the world and, if cut short, everyone's future could be changed. A life is so powerful, but yet, it seems, a death is even more so.

I know, too well, the heavy weight in the pit of your stomach, the gaping hole in the center of your heart, the agonizing pain flooding your veins and carving your bones after someone you truly loved has left you. I know it all too well, and I do not wish to know it any longer.

But I must if I wish to survive. I have to suck it up and face the facts. After all, the facts are right there, in front of me. They always have been.

It's the one, infallible truth that I have always been too stubborn to see.

I am Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and I am going to save the world.

But whether my death is a result of that remains to be seen.

I wish I could see Sirius one last time. To tell him how much he meant to me. To tell him how much I miss him. To tell him that I never meant for him to be killed, that I never meant to be so stupid.

But most of all, I want to tell him that I'll make him proud. His death won't have been in vain.

* * *

****

****

**A/N** I was just kind of testing this out. If I get a good response to it, I'll continue on. The rest of the story, after this chapter, is written in 3rd person ambiguous, the same way the actual Harry Potter books are written. It's going to be a very dark fic, so if you're into the whole rainbows and unicorn stuff, you probably should go find another fic.

Review, please. Chapter 2 will be up tomorrow.

The title, Caecus is Latin for "blind." You'll see why it's named that later.

(btw: the new chapter for "Solus" was almost done before I realized that I hated it and deleted it all. Sorry guys! I'm rewriting it as quickly as possible. Also, I might start a sequel to "The Will to Survive" at the request of many readers. Updates on that later.)


	2. Old Friends Past

**A/N** I promised it'd be up today, and here it is. Enjoy, and review, please.

****

* * *

Old Friends Past

It was before dawn when Harry Potter woke up the day of September the first. For a moment, he just lay in bed, his mind pounding with the excitement of a new school year. The guttural snores of his best friend, Ron Weasley, filled the small room in which they slept; the attic of a newly-occupied Order of the Phoenix Headquarters. The new headquarters was established on the outskirts of London after the previous Headquarters, Number 12, Grimmauld Place, had sealed itself following the death of the Black Family's only heir, and in so doing, had sealed a ragged old house-elf in with it.

Harry was brought to the new headquarters only a couple of weeks into the summer when he refused to speak to anyone through owl post concerning his late godfather. His stubbornness had not improved since his arrival. If someone were to mention Sirius' death in front of him, Harry would leave the room and refuse to answer to any pleads the others might have for him to talk.

If the pleads weren't for mere conversation, then they were for him to eat, a luxury Harry had begun to refuse. But it was impossible for any of them to understand the turmoil boiling beneath his skin. Their words of comfort rarely helped. Their words of wisdom went unheard.

On July 31 they had celebrated his sweet sixteen. The house had been strung with long red and gold ribbons over the heads of many people all there to wish him a Happy Birthday. Harry had sat somewhere in the vicinity of the birthday cake, his face void of emotion and his posture slumped, clearly expressing the desire to disappear into thin air. When Harry had refused to eat any cake, many people stopped trying to converse with him and ignored him. But Hermione and Ron had remained unwavering in their quest to rediscover the Harry they used to know, and had made feeble conversation about school, Quidditch, and the OWL results that had arrived a week before. Once again, Ron had expressed his amazement at Harry's OWL in Potions and wondered, for about the millionth time, how he himself had managed an OWL in Divination. Harry's grunt responses discouraged them somewhat, but they did not leave his side throughout the party. They even helped him unwrap his gifts.

As Harry lay in bed, that early morning in September, he realized how unfair he had been to his two greatest comrades, but at the same time he knew that if he wanted to get through this year with a clean conscience, he needed to distance himself from his friends. Even the slightest connection to him would present a target to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and Harry would never want what happened to Sirius to happen to anyone else he loved.

By the time Harry finally toppled out of bed 20 minutes after he first woke up, his mind was working as though he had been awake for hours. He silently changed out of his pajamas and packed the rest of his things into the trunk open at the foot of his bed. He then slipped out of the room and went downstairs. He went to the front door and carefully unlocked it, opening it slightly to reveal a small, tawny owl on the doormat, a newspaper in its beak.

Harry pulled a couple of knuts out of his pocket and placed them in the pouch attached to the bird's leg. He took the paper from its beak, and the owl hopped slightly then spread its wings and flew off.

Harry closed the door just as quietly as he had opened it, and, with the paper under his arm, he stole into the kitchen, taking his usual seat on the corner of the table and spreading the paper out in front of him. The news was the same as it was everyday. A missing person here, a mysterious death there, all were subtle signs of Voldemort's return. His closest circle of Death Eaters were still detained in the dark cells of Azkaban, yet the dementors were still at large. Earlier in the summer, pamphlets had arrived at every Wizarding household detailing various spells to repel the enemy. Harry had scoffed at how simple they had made the Patronus Charm appear.

Harry carefully scanned the articles, his eyes lingering for a moment on the moving picture of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, standing in front of a crowd speaking about Voldemort's return and what the Ministry was doing to ensure the safety of the people. Even in photo-form he looked flustered.

Harry heard a noise from behind him and turned his head around so quickly that he cricked his neck. When he saw that it was just Remus Lupin, he returned to his paper, massaging his neck.

Lupin gave Harry a weak smile as he sat down across from him, a smile that Harry did not bother to return.

As they lapsed into silence, Lupin searched for some sort of conversation that would bring Harry out of this reverie of depression.

"So I hear Fudge is considering resigning," he said, leaning forward slightly.

Harry's reply was nothing more that a soft noise from his throat.

Lupin nodded, as though he had understood Harry's wordless response, and leaned back slightly in his seat.

Harry turned the page, completely ignoring Lupin.

"So today's the big day," Lupin said enthusiastically, taking another stab at conversation.

Harry looked up at him.

"Are you excited for school, Harry?" Lupin asked.

_How old am I? Five?_ Harry thought. But he gave Lupin a small, crooked smile, hoping to subdue the questions.

But Lupin was relentless. Finally, he slammed his palms down on the table so forcefully that Harry jumped a little in his seat. "Tell me what to say, Harry," Lupin said pleadingly. "Tell me what to say to get the old Harry back. What I see in front of me is a mere shell of your former self. I understand the pain you went through when you lost Sirius, but I lost my best friend as well. Don't do this to yourself, don't torture yourself like this. It's not your fault that Sirius went to the Department of Mysteries, and it's not your fault that he died."

Harry looked at the man in front of him, and he felt like he was seeing his ex-professor for really the first time in his life. Gone was the wisdom and calmness. Instead Harry saw raw emotion, rawer than the werewolf inside him. This man had lost so much in his life; his three best friends, his freedom once a month, his jobs; and Harry saw the pain in him for the first time, when all shields and façades were down.

Harry kept eye-contact with him for a long time, and it began to feel a bit like a staring contest. Finally, Harry blinked and looked down. "There's nothing you can say," he said, his voice soft.

Lupin turned his head away, closing his eyes in the direction of the floor next to his feet. When he looked up again, Harry saw that the shield was back up and it was the calm and collected professor sitting across from him once more.

Done with the paper, Harry folded it up and offered it to Lupin who muttered a soft "thanks" as he took it from his hand. Harry meanwhile went to the parlor where he found his NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts book. He took it with him to the big armchair in the corner where he sat down and opened the book in his lap, his mind still with Lupin in the kitchen.

-

Six hours later found Harry aboard the Hogwarts Express, settled next to the window, sitting across from Neville Longbottom. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had yet to return from the Prefects carriage.

The other two companions in the compartment with him were carrying on a friendly conversation as Harry watched the countryside pass by his window. They had gotten to the station in cars provided by the Ministry of Magic, accompanied by four Ministry officials who had not left him alone until he was through the barrier. Whispers had followed Harry across Platform 9 ¾ and all the way into the compartment where Harry had planted himself.

Twenty minutes into the ride, Neville and Luna finally took it upon themselves to take notice of Harry.

"Did you have a nice summer, Harry?" Neville asked tentatively.

"It could have been worse," Harry replied, not bothering to look at Neville and instead gazing out the window. _Yeah, sure it could have been worse_, he thought bitterly. _I could have been holed up in a dungeon and been tortured by the Cruciatus Curse every waking moment._

"That's good," Neville replied. "Luna, didn't you say you were going to go to Sweden this summer?"

"I went," Luna replied. "Daddy and I went to look for the Crumple-Horned Snorkak. No one seemed to know what we were talking about. They really are odd people over there, you know."

Neville nodded to Luna, at the same time fighting the urge to smile.

At that moment the compartment door slid open and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny collapsed into seats, Hermione sliding in next to Harry with Ron on her other side, and Ginny landing heavily in the seat next to Luna.

"So what'd we miss?" Ron asked, slapping his palms together and rubbing vigorously.

Neville and Luna glanced at each other. "Nothing," Neville replied, shrugging. "Luna and I were just talking about Sweden. Meanwhile Harry's been over there doing his best impersonation of a mime."

Harry shot him an angry glance but resumed looking out the window again. For a moment, he felt everyone's eyes on him and the back of his neck tingled. The next moment they had redirected their attention to the compartment door which had just slid open again.

This time, Harry moved his focus from the window to the three Slytherins framed in the doorway.

Instinctively, his hand plunged into his pocket and violently ripped his wand from its hiding place, training it on the scrawny blonde boy in the center of the trio. Everyone else in the compartment had done the same.

Unfortunately, Crabbe and Goyle both had their wands on Harry. Harry inwardly thought that maybe the situation wasn't so unfair. Crabbe and Goyle couldn't hit the ocean with a rock while standing on the beach.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said fiercely.

"I'm just. . . checking in," Malfoy returned, his eyes flickering over everyone in the compartment. "Doing my Prefect duties, you know. Not doing anything naughty, are you? I just might have to dock you points. . . ."

"Shove it, Malfoy," Ron growled. "Prefects can't dock points."

"Ah, Weasel King, you seem to have caught up to everyone's train of thought. You must have been practicing over the summer," Malfoy sneered. His eyes snapped to Neville in an instant. "Longbottom over here, on the other hand, might need a bit more help. Maybe Loony should explain it to him. She seems to be on his level." Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly.

"Get out, Malfoy," Hermione said warningly.

Malfoy smiled evilly. "And that leaves me with Mudblood, Potty head, and the Weasel King's sister," he began.

"Get OUT!" Harry roared so intensely that sparks shot out of the end of his wand. He had leaped to his feet and was now enjoying the hint of fear in Malfoy's eyes.

"Are you going to curse me, Potter?" Malfoy spat, eyeing the wand tip aimed at his head.

"Not if you leave right now," Harry said. "And believe me, you _want_ to leave right now."

"You don't scare me, Potter," Malfoy sneered, closing the gap between himself and Harry so that Harry's wand was mere inches from the fabric of Malfoy's robes.

"Yeah? Well I'd better start scaring you," Harry warned. His fingers were itching to ram the wand into the side of Malfoy's head and utter the most foul curse he could think of.

"Remember what I said last June, Potter," Malfoy said, backing up to rejoin his friends at the compartment entrance. "Your head is mine." And after shooting a malicious glare at everyone else, he swept from the compartment and beckoned Crabbe and Goyle to follow.

Angrily, Ron slammed the door shut as everyone replaced their wands. Harry fell back in to his seat.

"What did Malfoy say to you last June, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing important," Harry replied, returning to his non-talkative demeanor.

"Harry, if he's been giving you death threats, that _is_ important," Hermione said seriously.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said sharply, "it was just Malfoy being an idiot again."

Even though he wasn't looking, he knew that Hermione and Ron had shared a look. Thankfully they left him alone after that. That is, they left him alone until the witch pushing the snack trolley arrived.

Everyone got something except for Harry. When the door slid shut, Hermione turned to Harry and shoved a handful of food into his lap.

"Eat," she insisted.

"Not hungry," he replied, shoving the food back.

"Harry, don't be stupid," Hermione said, pushing the food back at him. "Look at yourself. You're as thin as a broomstick."

"I'm not hungry," Harry repeated.

"Leave him 'lone, Hermione," Ron said through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty.

"Don't tell me you support him starving himself," Hermione said, rounding on Ron.

"Of course I don't," Ron said, brushing some crumbs from his shirt. "But Harry's nearly an adult in the Wizard World. He can handle himself."

Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards Ron, but found he was unable to express it to the red head. Instead, he turned to Hermione and almost dared her to contradict Ron's last statement.

Hermione fell silent and left her food untouched in her lap.

An hour later, they all changed into their robes. Harry tried not to notice how Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were carefully placing their Prefect Badges on the right side of their cloaks. Even though he had agreed with Dumbledore's choice not to appoint him prefect, he still felt a pang of jealousy whenever he thought of Hermione and Ron doing something that didn't include him.

The train finally skidded to a stop, and they gathered at the exit to the train. Hermione and Ron didn't need to do anything to organize the other students, but Ginny did and so she rushed off to join Colin Creevey in their duty to sort out the first years.

The rest of them went to find a carriage, Harry keeping his head low in an attempt to skirt the stares and whispers that were expected to follow him everywhere. It angered him that not a single whisper contained the fate of Sirius. No one knew what had happened to Sirius aside from the people in the Ministry that night. No one knew that Sirius was an innocent man besides the Order and Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Harry clenched his hand around his wand in his pocket, fighting the need to scream at the top of his lungs.

He made it to the carriage with no problems, and climbed in first, closely followed by Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Luna. Ginny showed up not too long later. Harry hadn't even flinched this time at the sight of the thestrals. He actually felt comfortable around them this time. A bit like seeing an old friend.

The cart rumbled up the walk to Hogwarts, and no one inside the carriage spoke, listening instead to the rhythmic thump of cobblestones beneath the wheels. It was odd, but Harry had a feeling in his chest of anticipation of something bad. Knocking it aside as nerves, he ignored it and looked across the carriage from him, to where Hermione was sitting. She was looking right back at him, the moonlight streaming through the window and glinting off of her cinnamon brown eyes, giving her skin a delicate glow that imitated porcelain. Harry's stomach gave a little jolt at the fierceness in her eyes, and immediately drew his eyes away from her and out the pitch black window. The prickling on the back of his neck let him know Hermione had not dropped her gaze.

He ignored her and continued to stare out the window.

Thankfully, the carriage slowed to a stop and they leaped out and began climbing the steps to the Entrance Hall. Harry saw the huge oak doors looming over them, and with each step upwards, he thought of how soon, he would be too absorbed by his studies to think about the stupid Prophecy or Voldemort or Sirius. . . .

But fate was against him as he met Argus Filch at the top of the stairs. The caretaker violently reached out and seized a clump of Harry's robes. Instinctively, Harry reached for his wand, but Filch slapped his hand away.

"Don't be stupid, boy," he growled. "Dumbledore wants to speak to you in private."

"What?" Harry said.

"You heard me," Filch said, pulling Harry into the Entrance hall.

Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of his friends over his shoulder standing framed in the doors before he was dragged into a room opposite the Great Hall.

"Stay," Filch said as though he were speaking to a dog. He hobbled out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry looked after him for a few moments before realizing that he wasn't coming back in. Instead, Harry looked around him and found himself in a large room packed with books, tables, and ending with a large fireplace on the far wall. He imagined that it might have been a small library long ago, but since then it has gathered dust and been outdated.

Unsure of what to do, he pulled out a chair at the nearest table and flopped down into it. On the table was a pile of old, yellowing and water-stained rolls of parchment. He tugged a random one towards him and carefully unrolled it. He saw the title first.

**_This hereby marks the account of Thomas Conway and his attempts to destroy the Dark Lord Grindewald._**

It continued in spindly handwriting, filling up the entire parchment. He saw with a bite of distaste that it ended abruptly with a stain that rather looked like dried blood.

He let the parchment snap back into the roll and put it back on the table, marveling at his luck at choosing what appeared to be a rather gruesome bit of information.

He decided to not test his already queasy stomach with another parchment roll, and instead sat with his hands on his knees, staring blankly at the wall opposite him, deep in thought about why Dumbledore would want to talk to him. He had not seen the headmaster since June when Harry had smashed up his office and witnessed his weak side. Harry did not want to come face to face with the man again. Not yet.

He waited in silence for a long time, vaguely calculating in his mind how long it would take to sort the new year of students and for Dumbledore to beckon them all to eat. Harry was glad that he wasn't at the feast. It was one less opportunity for Hermione to nag him about his eating.

What felt like a long time later, the door opened and Albus Dumbledore, in all his glory, stood in the doorway. He wore dark crimson robes that flowed about him as though he were suspended in water, as well as a matching hat. His clear blue eyes glinted out at Harry from behind half-moon spectacles, and Harry felt that usual feeling that Dumbledore could see right through him.

"I will not delay you from the feast any longer than I must," he said, closing the door swiftly and striding to the chair next to Harry, pulling it out and sitting down. He fixed Harry with his unwavering gaze. "You know now my reasons for the actions I have taken concerning your life in the past. You will therefore understand my reasons for the actions I am taking now."

Dumbledore paused and heaved a great sigh.

"But before that, let's get our formalities aside. How was your summer, Harry?"

Harry suspected that a simple "It could have been worse" reply would not satisfy Dumbledore, and instead realized the full magnitude of the question. The only way Harry could describe his summer was to say it had been like he had been tossed down the garbage disposal and ground to a bloody pulp. Somehow he knew that Dumbledore might not like that graphic comparison. Harry also knew that Dumbledore saw through his lies. So Harry was left with the non-graphic truth. "Bad," he said finally.

"As expected," Dumbledore said. "I'm sorry to say that this year won't be much better."

Harry nodded and lowered his head. Looking at his knees was easier than looking the old man in the face. In his mind's eye he could still see the glistening tears that man's eyes had held two months earlier.

"You're pained by the loss of your godfather," Dumbledore said, not as a question, but as fact. "You're feeling guilt you have no business feeling. You feel a loneliness inside of yourself that you feel is threatening to consume your being, but you welcome it as punishment for the guilt."

Harry shifted his eyes to the ground. He noticed that Dumbledore hadn't said Sirius' name, and remembered how he had yelled at his headmaster to not speak it. He had obeyed.

"You feel that you should have died instead of your godfather," Dumbledore said finally.

Harry stiffened his jaw defiantly. So what?

"Harry, look at me," Dumbledore said. Reluctantly, Harry looked up. "Is this true?"

Harry blinked hard. "Yes," he said stiffly. He chose to ignore the flash of sadness in Dumbledore's eyes.

Dumbledore stiffened in his seat and his voice became very business-like. "Very well. What I was speaking of earlier is your schedule this year. It will be different from the other students. Mondays through Wednesdays you will have your normal N.E.W.T. courses. Thursday you will have Advanced Defense and Occlumency. You will have Friday through Sunday free to do your homework. For your Thursday classes you will come to this room. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry said. Dumbledore had never addressed him like this, like a teacher.

"Good."

Harry looked off to the side, letting the awkward silence engulf them.

When Dumbledore spoke again, his tone was fatherly again. "You're not a child, Harry. Don't make me treat you like one. I need to see that you can take care of yourself, like you have so wanted to prove. You are the most important part of this war, and I need you to be as strong as you are able. War is death, Harry. It's grief. It's losing someone one night and then waking up the next morning to fight for your own life. I need you to understand that. There will be many casualties in this war, and we have to stay strong and keep those numbers as low as possible. Do you hear what I'm saying, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said bitterly.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "You know if you want to talk, my door is always open."

Harry nodded, still looking at the ground.

Dumbledore stood up. "Well, I won't waste anymore of your time," he said, taking a step towards Harry. He took hold of Harry's hand and held it for a moment. "Don't torture yourself, Harry. No one blames you for anything. The password to the Gryffindor Common Room is 'snitch.'" He moved his hand to gently squeeze Harry's shoulder, and then turned and strode out of the room.

It wasn't until the door had clicked shut that Harry realized that Dumbledore had put something in Harry's hand. Carefully turning his hand over and unfolding his fingers, he saw a shiny gold and scarlet Quidditch Captain Badge resting on his palm.

* * *

**Shawn Pickett - **I'm very interested to see where this story goes also, lol.

** Loony Loony Lovegood -** Will do! ; )

**Evenstar Elanor - **Don't worry, Solus isn't gone. Sorry for my short attention-span, though, lol.

**JeanieBeanie33** - Why thank you very much! I know that you review to my fics more than anyone, so thanks for that, I really appreciate it.

**Thom Verdace -** Ah, yes, sorry about that. But see, when I wrote that I was picturing "My Little Pony" type unicorns with the rainbow horns and fluffy white tails and big blue eyes. I know that's a bit unfair seeing as most mythological unicorns aren't anything like that, but I was just referring to the modern-day stereotype. My bad.


	3. Another Year, Another Pain

**A/N** I'm not dead yet. Sorry for the wait.

* * *

**Another Year, Another Pain**

Harry kept the badge in his hand all the way up to Gryffindor Tower and through the portrait hole. He took a seat on the couch and watched the fire, letting his hand memorize the shape and feel of the badge in his fingers. A great amount of pride swept through him.

It was twenty minutes later when the portrait hole opened and a storm of Gryffindors surged into the Common Room. Hermione and Ron were in front.

"What happened?" Ron asked, "Why didn't you show up at the feast?"

"Dumbledore wanted to talk to me," Harry replied. "I'm taking a couple of classes this year that no one else will be."

"What are they?" Hermione asked, taking a seat next to Harry.

"Advanced Defense and Occlumency with Dumbledore," Harry replied, smirking a bit. The Quidditch badge had given him an air of confidence that was obvious with every syllable that passed through his lips. He was happier than he had been for months.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked to Ron.

"What?" Harry asked, knowing that they were thinking something similar to each other.

"Nothing," Ron said quickly.

Harry scowled. He hated it when his friends kept things from him. Instead of prodding them for an explanation, he stood up and walked towards the stairs. Hermione's voice stopped him.

"Harry, what's that in your hand?" she asked.

Harry stopped, and turned back to his friends and let them see his first smile in several months. He held his hand up next to his face, displaying the badge. "My new Quidditch Captain badge," he said.

He tossed the badge up in the air and snatched it up, turning around and going up the stairs, leaving his friends in shocked silence.

o.o.o.o.

Harry was the first to wake up the next morning. He changed silently then slipped down to the Common Room, which was empty. He stood for a moment, staring absently into the fire, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his new badge. He pinned it to the front of his robes, his fingers lingering on it for a second longer. He hesitated for a moment, not sure where he should go. After a brief, silent debate with himself, he raced back up to the dormitory and grabbed his book bag, slinging it over his shoulder and returning to the common room, slipping out through the portrait hole, and heading down to the Great Hall.

He wasn't surprised to see that the Great Hall was empty, save for Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron, both of whom were floating lazily about the hall.

"Harry Potter!" Nick called, catching sight of the newest arrival. He glided swiftly towards Harry. "How are you, my dear boy? How was your summer?"

Harry shrugged. "It was fine," he lied.

Nick smiled at him, but Harry could sense the pity in those transparent eyes. There was a rustling at the door and Harry turned quickly to see a man he had never seen before entering the hall. He looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. He did not seem to take notice of Harry or either of the ghosts as he made his way to the Head Table.

"Who's that?" Harry whispered, leaning towards Nick a bit.

"Apollo McClaggan," Nick responded, the corners of his lips twisting up. "He's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He's rather well known in the Ministry. He used to be a top Auror, but now he's an Unspeakable. Rumor has it that he's as good as Dumbledore -" Nick tugged up his collar "- though everyone knows that no one's as good as Dumbledore."

Harry watched the man's progress to the Head Table. "You say he's from the Ministry? He's not like Umbridge at all, right?"

"Oh goodness, no!" Nick said, looking appalled. "This man has a passion for magic. Just wait, you'll see." Nick glided off and left Harry standing next to the Gryffindor table, very intrigued by this McClaggan guy.

When the man looked up and fixed Harry with his yellow eyes, Harry felt something tighten in his chest, and he immediately looked away, remembering that Occlumency required eye-contact. He settled down at the far end of the table and put a breakfast roll on his plate. Taking a chance, he looked back up at the Head Table. He wondered why they'd send an Unspeakable to Hogwarts.

_But still_, he decided, _he's an Auror. The best of the best._

Harry nibbled on the roll and watched as a trickle of students entered the Great Hall. Hufflepuff appeared to be the majority of the early-risers, followed by Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and finally Slytherin. When Hermione and Ron came in, they took a seat on either side of Harry, dishing themselves full plates of food and chattering about the following day of school. Harry saw Ron's eyes drift to the Quidditch badge on more than one occasion.

McGonagall came around and passed out their schedules. Harry saw that his first classes were Charms and Transfiguration and remembered in past years when his first class had been Potions. That was never a good way to start out the year.

Harry deserted his half-eaten roll and walked with Hermione and Ron to Charms once the bell had rung. They entered to see that pretty much everyone was there who had been there last year. It appeared that no one had been hindered by the O.W.L.s.

They took their usual seats and pulled out their wands. Harry glanced around casually to see where Professor Flitwick was. The final bell rang, and Professor Flitwick tottered in through the doorway, looking harassed and tired without sparing a glance for the students around him. The class watched him disappear behind his desk and then climb the stack of books to get up to the top. He moved aside a few papers and then pulled out a roll of parchment. He peered at them over the top for a second, as though just realizing they were there, and then called role.

"You will come to see that N.E.W.T. Charms is much more complicated than what I've been teaching you thus far. The spells are so complex and require so much concentration that many of you will be unable to finish the course. You may drop the class, or any of your N.E.W.T. classes, for that matter, without penalty within the first three weeks. However, for many of you, this class is crucial for whichever career you are pursuing."

Flitwick peered at them over his glasses then said, "Alright, wands at the ready. First, let's review the basics. Remember the nice wrist movement that goes with many of the spells you have learned. . . . A nice swish and flick. . . ."

o.o.o.o.

Transfiguration was their next class. Unlike Charms, there seemed to be considerably less students at their desks when the bell finally rang. Students from all four houses were in the class, reaching a total of approximately 20 students all together. Draco Malfoy sat next to Theodore Nott near the front of the class. Harry saw, with a swell of glee, Malfoy's eyes flicker down to his Quidditch badge. He relished the anger that creased those eyes.

McGonagall spent most of the period telling them how hard the new spells will be for them to learn, which only served to dampen their spirits. Hermione never set her quill down, scribbling down everything McGonagall said with a frenzied desperation to prove herself, though everyone knew, Harry included, that Hermione would have no problem with this year's classes. Hermione failing was about as likely as Ron eating his own shoe.

When finally the bell rang, Harry, Hermione, and Ron escaped into the hallway and headed towards the Great Hall for lunch. They had no more classes that day, and were planning on spending it outside near the lake doing the little homework they had.

Harry managed to gulp down some pumpkin juice and half of a croissant sandwich at lunch. His spirits were slightly higher after his classes. He had a feeling that school was just the thing to drag his mind away from the Department of Mysteries.

"This is so excellent," Ron said as they walked down the front steps and strode towards the lake. "Hardly any homework. So little, in fact, that it's almost pointless to do it!" He laughed and kicked a rock and sent it flying across the ground.

"You really shouldn't put it off, though," Hermione scolded him. "Our other classes are bound to give us more work. It'll pile up by the end of the week and then you'll be begging me for help."

"Loosen up, Hermione," Ron advised, "you worry too much."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione glance at him. He turned his head slightly away, shrinking from her gaze.

They sat down at the edge of the water underneath a giant oak tree. Hermione sat cradled in the roots, a book open on her lap. Ron sat closer to the water, tossing small stones into the water and watching the ripples. Harry sat up near the tree with Hermione, gazing wistfully across the water.

All around them students basked in the sun, either enjoying their few moments of freedom or completing the work they had just received. Harry was lost in thought, absently dragging his forefinger through the dirt at the base of the tree. Above him a bird sang it's sweet song, punctuated by the rustling of leaves and the howl of the wind as it wove it's way among the branches.

Harry felt an unexplainable calmness settle down on him, and for the moment he was content to just be sitting there, alive, surrounded by his friends next to the beautiful lake and serenaded by nature's sounds.

And while the anger and grief that had haunted him for months still resided in his chest, it was masked by his contentment. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree, soaking up the peacefulness.

He was just drifting into a light sleep when a hand on his shoulder jerked him awake. Opening his eyes blearily, he turned quickly to Hermione, who was the one who had woken him.

"Hagrid's done with his lessons," she told him. "Do you want to go visit him?"

"Sure," Harry replied, getting to his feet and stretching. Ron joined them, and they walked to Hagrid's cabin in silence.

The cabin was the same as ever. A meek wooden structure situated between an over-sized pumpkin patch and a thick, dark forest. The curtains were drawn shut around the windows, but Harry could see a dark silhouette cause the light to flicker once or twice.

Hermione was the one who rapped on the door when they reached it, and a moment later the door swung open, revealing a very big, very happy Hagrid.

"I've been wonderin' when you three'd come ter see me," he greeted them, welcoming them into his house.

"Our classes are over by lunch," Hermione told him. "We've been out by the lake until now."

"Fine day out," Hagrid commented, beaming at them. His eyes drifted to Harry who was seemingly trying to take up as little room as possible. Hagrid's smile faltered slightly.

"So how was yer firs' day back?" he asked them, bringing out some sweet fruit cookies.

"Easy," Ron said brightly, taking a cookie from the platter. "We hardly have any homework."

"Sixth year is suppose' ter be the easies' year," Hagrid said, pouring them all some juice. "Kind of the break between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. O' course the classes are hard themselves, but not a lot o' homework."

Ron grinned and shot an I-told-you-so look towards Hermione. She said nothing and appeared to be thoroughly consumed by the juice she was drinking.

"How was your first day of classes, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.

Hagrid sat down heavily in his oversized chair and smiled. "The third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors were today. There's one Gryffindor who looks like he might be a distant relative of yours, Ron. Gerard Carson, I think his name was."

"I think I know who he is," Hermione said, snatching another cookie. "Small skinny kid with the red hair. Ginny told me he was causing trouble among the first years last night."

"Defin'tly a Fred 'n George personality," Hagrid agreed.

They slipped into a conversation about the Fred and George antics of the previous year. Even Harry chuckled when they remembered the infamous fireworks.

The sun was beginning to set when they got up to leave. A dull, orange glow filtered in through the curtains and bathed the small hut in its warmth. The trio went to the door, thanking Hagrid for the drinks and cookies. Ron and Hermione slipped out into the grounds, but Harry lingered back a second.

"Where's Grawp, Hagrid?" he asked.

"He's safe, and tha's all yeh need ter know," Hagrid said, patting Harry on the shoulder.

Harry nodded, looking down and stepping out onto the springy grass that crunched beneath his sneakers.

"Harry, I 'eard about yer extra classes," Hagrid said, causing Harry to turn back to him. "Yer goin' ter have fun."

Harry smiled half-heartedly. "I hope so."

"You will," Hagrid confirmed.

Harry turned away and began walking. He had barely taken ten steps when Hagrid called out to him again.

"We're all proud o' yeh, Harry. Sirius is too."

Harry closed his eyes. "Thanks," he called back, and went to meet Ron and Hermione at the stone steps where they were waiting for him.

o.o.o.o.

Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts were the next day. Snape spent the entire class period letting them know how much he expects half of the class to fail, letting his glare snap to Harry on several occasions.

Ron hadn't gotten his O.W.L. in Potions, so he was attending an elective class called "Strategy and Subtleness against Dark Arts." Apparently, the job career of his choice was Auror, but he had not gotten the amount of O.W.L.s he needed, so instead he would be trained to be a desk job, probably one who planned out the operations that field Aurors would be sent on. It was a perfect job for him, considering his skill in Wizard's Chess, Harry decided.

Snape wasted no time in setting them the hardest potion he could think of in order to daunt their spirits. A N.E.W.T. level Vanishing Potion was to be bubbling in their cauldrons at the end of class, ready to be tested on the lizards in the cages lining the walls. Harry worked hard, hunched over his cauldron, and reading each line of directions three times over, desperate to not mess up. To his amazement, his potion looked exactly the same as Hermione's by the end of the period, and Snape was forced to hold his tongue when Harry's lizard disappeared instantly on his desk.

They met up with Ron on the Grand Staircase then made their way up to Defense Against the Dark Arts in silence. All three had heard whispers about McClaggan, but it was impossible to discern reality from fables. Some claimed that he was the strictest, meanest teacher they had met, and could make Snape look like a sweet puppy dog in comparison. Others told wild stories about the cool magic they had learned and how this guy was the most powerful wizard ever. Unsure of what to believe, the three kept their thoughts to themselves as they finally entered the classroom and took three seats in the front. McClaggan sat behind the big mahogany desk with his thick dragon hide boots resting on top of some papers and his hands behind his head. He watched them all with a cool, relaxed attitude. When the final bell had rung, and all the students were sitting stiff in their seats with their quills poised over their parchments, he continued to survey them.

Harry and Ron shared a quizzical look as minutes passed, and still McClaggan said nothing. Hermione was becoming anxious, her knee bouncing quickly under her desk, and her eyes drifting to Ron's watch many times. Harry just sat patiently, keeping his eyes on the professor. When Ron prodded him to whisper something, Harry waved him off and continued to watch McClaggan.

Minutes later, much of the class had lost focus and had claimed this class as a free period. Exploding Snap cards emerged from bags and circles of girls discussed their summer adventures. However, Harry and Hermione stayed focused, expecting McClaggan to finally do something. Ron grew exasperated with trying to get their attention and finally moved away to show his skill in Exploding Snap.

Five minutes to the end of class, something finally happened. It was so fast that everyone in the class except Harry and Hermione missed it. McClaggan leapt to his feet, his chair flying out from under him in the opposite direction from the way he was going. His wand somehow appeared in his hand, and he fired two stunning spells in rapid succession into the general crowd. Harry, as though expecting this, abandoned his quill and whipped out his wand. As Hermione cast a shield charm over the class, Harry disarmed McClaggan. Silence fell over the entire class as Harry caught McClaggan's wand from midair and trained both it and his own on the teacher. Hermione's shield charm had worked in protecting the class from the stunning spells.

McClaggan stepped out from behind the desk, clapping his hands loudly and smiling at Harry and Hermione.

"Excellent," he said. "Class dismissed."

Bewildered, they packed up their things. Harry, confused, strode up to the front and handed McClaggan back his wand.

"You're the Potter boy?" he asked, his voice smooth and nice to hear.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"I'll be seeing you Thursdays for your Advanced Defense class. Remus Lupin told me I won't be disappointed."

Harry smiled. He liked this guy.

"Would you like to have lunch with me? I'm very interested in hearing your stories."

"I'm sure any story you'd tell would be a lot more interesting," Harry laughed.

"You'd be surprised," McClaggan returned, a twinkle in his eye very much resembling Dumbledore's. "Your friends are welcome too. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, I presume?"

Ron and Hermione, who had been listening to the conversation from some distance away both leaped forward at the sound of their names.

"Lunch would be lovely," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, looking somewhat nervous to be talking to this mystery.

"Harry?" McClaggan prompted.

Harry smiled. "Lunch sounds great."

o.o.o.o.

McClaggan leaned back in his comfy leather armchair in his office. He had a pipe between his lips and was puffing it periodically. He had removed his glasses and was now sitting with such an air of comfort that Harry was now surer than ever that he wanted to do what this man did: Train to be an Auror, work on making the world a safer place, impart his knowledge to others, and be so sure of himself that he could take a moment just to enjoy life.

They had just finished lunch, which had consisted of flaky croissant sandwiches, slices of carmelized apples, warm butterbeer, and ending with the bowl of Honeydukes candy being passed around among the teenagers. They had discussed various things throughout their meal, from their summers, to their classes, to Quidditch. For now, they watched him patiently and chewed silently on their candy.

Finally, McClaggan leaned forward and replaced his glasses. "Smoke?" he asked, offering his pipe to them.

Ron made to accept the pipe, but Hermione slapped his hand down. "No, we don't smoke," she said sternly.

Ron shrank away disappointed and threw Hermione an angry look.

"Very well," McClaggan said. He put his pipe aside and peered out at them with a renewed interest. "Your first year Defense teacher was Quirinus Quirrell?"

They all nodded.

"I knew him," McClaggan said, resting his right boot on his left knee. "He was quite a man. Of course, I knew him years before he picked up Voldemort."

Ron jumped at the name. Harry and Hermione both felt somehow safer. Only Order members spoke the name.

"Who was your second year teacher, again?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry said sullenly. "Horrible year."

"Yes, yes, I've heard of that bloke. In St. Mungo's now, isn't he?"

"I did that," Ron said proudly. "My wand, actually. It was broken, and he tried to use it on us, and ended up erasing his own memory."

McClaggan laughed a deep, hearty laugh. "The way I see it, he had it coming. That was the year you found the Chamber of Secrets, wasn't it?" he asked Harry.

"Yes," Harry responded. Prompted by McClaggan, he launched into a full recount of the Chamber, revealing how he had discovered he was a Parselmouth, the diary, Aragog, and ending finally with the slaying of the Basilisk.

"Impressive," McClaggan said, thoroughly excited by the story. "Very impressive. Dumbledore said you trio were something, I never really believed it until now."

All three of them swelled with pride.

"Tell me about your third year. I remember Remus telling me he'd be teaching James' son."

"You knew my father?" Harry asked.

"Harry," McClaggan smiled, leaning forward and talking in a low, even voice, "_everyone_ knew your father." He leaned back again and entwined his fingers beneath his chin. "Tell me about Sirius Black."

Harry felt all the happiness drain out of him. He visibly slumped in his seat. Hermione and Ron both looked quickly at him.

"W-What do you want to know?" Harry asked, visibly shaken.

"What was your first impression of him? What emotions did you feel?"

Harry rested his hands on his knees and looked at the ground as he took himself back to that painful night. "I was. . . angry," he said after a moment of thought.

"What did you say to him?" McClaggan prompted.

"I yelled," Harry admitted. "I taunted him about Azkaban, about murdering Pettigrew."

"Then what happened?"

Harry looked up at McClaggan. "I fought him. I almost killed him." He spoke very slowly, very carefully, as though he was trying with great difficulty to keep his voice from breaking.

"Why?"

"Because I thought he killed my parents!" Harry said angrily, his voice rising against his will.

"Did he?"

"No!"

"Did you ever tell him that?" McClaggan demanded, leaning forward again and meeting Harry's gaze. "Did you ever tell him that you don't blame him for their deaths?"

Harry's head fell. He remembered Sirius saying something that night. Harry had just yelled, "You killed my parents!" and Sirius responded, "I don't deny it." Harry felt himself melting inside. "No, I never told him that."

McClaggan relented and leaned back. "Could that be why you're having so much difficulty coping with his death?"

Harry said nothing and focused very hard on his knees.

"I think that you weren't done forgiving him, thanking him, and that's why you refuse to let go."

Again, Harry said nothing. His hands were shaking slightly, and he appeased them by entwining them between his knees.

"Your grief is understandable. Your silence is not," McClaggan leaned forward so his face was very close to Harry's. "The demons you keep feed off of your silence, and they will consume you until it's too late. I know it's hard, and I know it doesn't feel right, but don't be afraid of talking. It's the best kind of therapy, even though it might feel strange."

Harry's whole body was shaking now. Anger was engulfing him.

"Harry, are you listening to me?" McClaggan prompted.

Harry lost it. He stood up so quickly that his chair went flying backwards. Ron and Hermione both visibly flinched. "HOW DARE YOU?" he screamed. "YOU AND DUMBLEDORE BOTH! I CAME TO LUNCH BECAUSE I WAS HOPING TO GET TO KNOW YOU, NOT GET A LECTURE ABOUT WHAT I SHOULD DO! I HAVE ENOUGH OF THAT IN MY LIFE, DON'T YOU THINK?" He was breathing very hard, and he had unconsciously balled his hands into fists.

McClaggan, on the other hand, was smiling. "Good, good," he said softly.

Harry nearly exploded in rage. This was exactly what Dumbledore had done in June. Kept calm when all Harry wanted to do was yell and scream. They both talked in such an arrogant way. Harry didn't want them to tell him about himself, he didn't want them to tell him why he was sad or angry. . . or what Sirius really meant to him.

"AND ANOTHER THING!" Harry continued. "WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO TALK TO ME ABOUT SIRIUS?"

"If I do remember correctly, Harry," McClaggan said, "you gave me permission to ask about Sirius."

"Harry, calm down," Hermione urged, grabbing his sleeve.

Overwhelmed with anger and grief, Harry yanked his arm away from Hermione's grasp and swept from the room without another word.

McClaggan rested his chin on his folded hands. "Yes, yes," he muttered to no one in particular. "We'll need to figure all that out first."

Hermione and Ron sat awkwardly for a few moments longer, then excused themselves and went after Harry, unsure about whether they should find Harry or give him a moment to calm down. They made their way slowly up to Gryffindor Tower, trying to formulate what they would say if they encountered Harry.

When they made it past the Fat Lady and saw Harry was not there, they sat down and decided to wait for him. Half an hour later, Ron went up to the dormitory to drop off his books.

What he saw drained his blood.

Harry was sprawled out on his bed, blood crawling down the side of his face and pooling on the satin sheets. In horror, Ron dropped his bags and tumbled down the stairs, barely aware of his legs functioning.

"Hermione!" he screamed. "Hermione!"

"What? What is it?" Hermione answered, appearing at the foot of the stairs.

"It's Harry! Come quick!"

Hermione vaulted up the stairs. Upon entering the dormitory, she clasped her hands over her mouth and let out a faint scream of terror.

"I'll go get Madam Pomfrey!" Ron yelled, and he vanished down the stairs.

Hermione crept closer to Harry's prone figure, too afraid to check for a pulse. He was chalk-white and very still. Kneeling at his bedside, she lowered her hands in relief when she saw his chest rising and falling with short spurts of breath. She could not see anything around that could have caused the bleeding, no sharp object of any sort, and his wand was not anywhere to be seen.

She pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket and lightly dabbed at Harry's forehead, mopping up the crimson blood, caught somewhere between nausea and hysteria. She looked for the wound before she realized, with a skip of her heart, that there was none.

It was his scar that was bleeding.

* * *

Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnn... 

Okay, I know, I've used the scar bleeding thing SO many times in my other stories, but I'm really in love with the concept... don't know why. Just go with me on this.

Again, I'm really sorry for making you guys wait. I'm not going to bore you with excuses, so instead just know that I'll try my best to keep writing this story (and 'Solus') right up to when HBP comes out. Testing season is next month, and goodness knows I'll need a distraction from AP World History. Trust me, this is much more interesting than memorizing the terms of the Treaty of Versailles or who exactly the Bolsheviks were.

I've kind of slipped off the face of the internet world, but you can read some of my original writing at under the penname felonymelanie007, if you have a free moment. I'm going to start posting some of my poetry there, and I'd really love any input.

So until my next posting, may your swords stay sharp. (I know, I'm an ultra-nerd, but anyone who can place that reference gets a cookie. A chocolate chip cookie!).

peace

felony melanie


End file.
